


It’s definitely all your fault

by MFLuder



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Consensual Underage Sex, Daddy Kink, First Kiss, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Oliver Queen/OMC, Pining, Porn Watching, Pre-Slash, Roy POV, honestly no sex happens between them here, past Oliver Queen/Dinah Lance - Freeform, sorry for disappointing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: Oliver's hurting after Dinah left and the fact that Roy walks in on Oliver and a guy who could be Roy's twin isn't helping the situation.
Relationships: Roy Harper/Oliver Queen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	It’s definitely all your fault

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xavierurban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/gifts).



> Written as part of my tumblr 300 followers raffle. Xavier asked for OllieRoy and "Don't ask me for that.".
> 
> Set in Rebirth. (The whole spying on Oliver is canon there.)

Roy doesn’t start when he hears the sound of the front door to the penthouse open and quietly click shut, like Ollie actually believes Roy will be asleep.

Another Monday night, another day where Oliver comes home at two in the morning, smelling of booze. Roy probably _should_ be asleep, but nights like this, since Dinah left this latest time, he stays up playing Fortnite instead.

“Hey,” he says without inflection, doing his best to not wrinkle his nose at Oliver’s state of disarray. He gets close enough to block the TV and before Roy moves his head to peer around him, he notes a purpling bruise right under the scruff of his goatee.

“You should be in bed,” Oliver says, but it’s quiet, resigned, as he flops onto the couch alongside Roy.

Roy snorts. “Yeah, so should you, _Dad_.”

A grimace of distaste flashes on Oliver’s lips. He doesn’t respond though, knows Roy is only doing it to get a rise from him. They play this game sometimes. “I should. But this is cozy.” Roy restrains from rolling his eyes as Oliver cuddles into his side.

“You’re affecting my gameplay, dude.”

“Dad to dude in five seconds flat. That’s a new record.”

Roy does roll his eyes this time, lifting his right arm so Oliver can fall into his lap and he can keep playing. Dick’s not on at this time, Batman’s regiment far more prohibitive than Oliver’s, but Wally is and they’re playing with international kids who wake up and don’t go to school.

His attention is quickly divided between two foci though – the game and Oliver’s warm, heavy head in his lap. Thankfully, it’s resting on his lower thighs, his arm coming up to curl over Roy’s knees. Still, he’s distracted by the way the light plays on Oliver’s golden hair, how it glints off the short spikes of his mustache trailing into the softer, longer strands of his beard. The facial hair makes him look older, but the blue game light softens his face and in moments like this, Roy realizes just how young his mentor and guardian is.

He jokes and calls Ollie dad, but the truth is, Oliver is only twenty-eight and yet, he takes on the weight of the world when he should be able to be out fucking pretty girls and dealing with breakups – not those things on top of taking care of a sixteen-year-old and the city’s villains.

Oliver lets out a snore and Roy sighs, signing off with a quick goodbye to Wally. He puts down the game controller on his left side and looks down at his mentor, sleeping in his lap. His Oxford is unbuttoned, letting out a glimpse of thick chest hair. One of his pants pockets is pulled inside out, the white fabric a sharp contrast to the dark grey of his pants. Roy rests there a long time, just looking – _getting_ to look – before he lifts one hand and lets it land on Oliver’s head.

His hair is as soft as every other time Roy has taken this chance. As he runs the strands over his fingers, it stirs up the faint scent of his shampoo, something with tea tree and apple in it. He risks more this time, rubbing his thumb over Oliver's ear, the sensitive peak, then down to his lobe where a single small diamond rests. He notices Oliver is holding a lot of tension, even in his sleep, and begins to rub right under his ear where the hinge of his jaw and neck meet and it pulls a small moan from the sleeping man, his mouth falling slightly open. Who, even when Roy starts, simply snuggles in closer, pushing his head back.

Right against Roy’s semi.

His hands leave Oliver’s body like he’s been burned, and he takes in a deep breath. “Okay, Roy,” he whispers to himself. “Bedtime. Yeah.”

He shifts and with the strength that he’s gained from practicing with Oliver’s bigger recurve bow, he manages to get Oliver’s weight under his two arms, and he stands without too much jostling. Oliver’s heavy, but his room is only a few steps off the living space and Roy makes it, setting down Oliver onto his bed a little harder than he wants.

He winces when Oliver’s eyes flicker open for a moment, sleep-and-drink heavy. They’re dark pools of emerald, almost black in the limited light that shines through the drapes.

“Thanks, baby,” he mumbles and then seems to drop off again, curling up and over on his side, heedless of the clothes that still smell like bar smoke and cheap whiskey.

Roy’s stomach does a flip at the endearment, even as he knows Oliver thinks he’s Dinah. She’s certainly put Oliver’s ass in bed enough times.

He doesn’t dare strip Oliver though, like she does. He’s not allowed to touch, can’t touch. If he does, he might not stop. Roy runs a hand through his greasy locks and places his hands on his hips, looking at the crescent shadow Oliver makes before he slips out, shutting the door.

~~~

The next afternoon, Roy gets back from school, walking in on Oliver holding his head and griping his coffee tight at the tall island bar.

Roy drops his red backpack on the clean marble tile and snorts. “Serves you right,” he scolds, as he goes to the medicine cabinet, pulling out the extra strength Tylenol. He sets it down along with a bottle of water, then leans against the counter with his own bottle.

Oliver grunts his thanks as he swallows both pills in one gulp, Adam’s apple bobbing hard.

“So, who was she? You even get her name this time?”

Oliver reburies his head in the black coffee.

Roy lets out a sharp laugh. “Harsh, man. Not setting a good example for your _son_ , here.”

“Don’t—” Oliver answers, even sharper, cutting himself off before taking a breath. “Roy. I know I’m not your father.” He scratches at his beard, then looks up with beseeching eyes. “I’m not trying to be. I just…I just want to treat you well.”

Roy finishes his water, using the action to hide his sudden trembling. He drops the bottle in the recycling bin in the pantry and picks up his bag.

“I’ve got training with the Titans, Oliver. Don’t wait up.”

“You have school!” Oliver shouts after him and Roy can just imagine his mentor wincing at having yelled.

“And you have work, but I don’t see _you_ there!” Roy shouts back, slamming his door with a smirk on his face.

_U here?_ he texts Dick.

He gets back the down arrow, the smirking face, boxing glove, and the karate jacket.

In five minutes, he’s flying past Oliver, not letting himself be caught by a sanctimonious lecture and races down the stairs to see Dick parked in front in one of the shiny black cars he gets to drive, Ray-Bans and smile on.

“Let’s get out of here,” Roy mumbles and Dick just laughs and shifts, pealing out of the building’s drive much to the consternation of the doorman.

~~~

One week later, he returns home, blithely walking into the penthouse, feeling accomplished that the Titans managed to stop one of Cadmus’ cloning plots. He sauces his bag on the floor once more and announces “Honey, I’m home!”

There’s a small thud and then a voice that isn’t Oliver’s saying “Shit, shit,” followed by Oliver’s baritone repeating it and he can’t help himself, Roy walks around the small partition separating the kitchen and entry from the living room and finds a redheaded man buttoning up his pants, lips beet red and Oliver holding a pillow over his crotch.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the stranger accuses, looking Roy up and down as he straightens his clothing. “Or that you’re really into young kids, I mean, what the f—”

Oliver is too busy blushing and groaning into his hands, so Roy cuts the man off. “Not his boyfriend. Oliver has a lot of faults, but fucking his son isn’t one.”

It’s the other man’s turn for his face to turn bright red and he shoves his hands in his pockets, shifting on his feet out of nervous embarrassment. His blue eyes flit around the room, looking for a place to land that isn’t the man who’s cock he was just sucking or the teen who walked in on them.

“But,” Roy continues, lower and more threatening in tone than someone who just called himself Oliver’s son’s voice probably should be, “I suggest you leave. Now.”

“No problem,” the redhead says, picking up his jacket from the floor where it landed likely after some casual flinging of clothes. He pauses before leaving. “Wish I could say it was fun, but. Maybe you shouldn’t bring guys home if your kid’s going to be around. Kind of tacky, man.”

Then he’s gone, the front door slamming behind him.

Roy stares down at Oliver who at least has finally sat up on the couch, still looking sheepish. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be back today,” he says, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, the other still resting over the pillow in his lap.

“This is an all-time low, Oliver,” Roy snaps out. “Dinah, I got. But you’ve never brought _them_ home before. And now a dude?”

Oliver looks up sharply at him. “Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little guy-on-guy kissing, Roy. I assumed you did that with your Bat-pal. Didn’t I raise you to be better than a homophobe?”

Roy can feel the tips of his ears redden. “Leave Dick out of this. And _you_ didn’t. _Raise_. _Me_. I’m not a homophobe, Oliver. It’s just nice to not come home and see your fucking twin making out with the guy you live with.”

With that, before Oliver can get another word in, Roy turns on his heel and slams his bedroom door, clicking the lock into place loudly.

As far as he can tell, Oliver doesn’t even try to follow.

~~~

Roy ends up staying in his room for the next week, other than slipping out at weird times to go to school or training. He wishes something would cause the need for another Titans mission, but he’s not that lucky. Instead, he mopes. Calls Donna, texts with Dick, and pouts, because he can’t tell either of them why he’s upset, even though they can tell he is. What does he say? Yeah, I’ve always wanted my guardian to fuck me and I thought it would never happen and then one day I came home, and some guy who could have been my twin was giving him a blowjob?

Yeah. That would go over _real_ well with either of his goody-two-shoe friends.

Eventually, he stops hearing Oliver skulking around and when he goes out into the kitchen, he finds a note in Oliver’s neat block letters declaring he’s meeting with the Justice League that night. There are also two hundred-dollar bills clipped to the note, like Roy’s a twelve-year-old who needs money to order pizza.

He takes the cash anyway.

That afternoon, he breaks into Oliver’s stash – like it’s hard – and gets himself drunk on sixty-year-old scotch that he knows he can’t even appreciate, plays video games, avoids homework, and generally just acts like a lazy asshole in the living room he’s avoided for five days.

He does order pizza and, being drunk, he’s feeling charitable, so he adds in an order for Ollie’s favorite double pepperoni and mushroom. He puts it away in the fridge right away, and proceeds to gorge himself on six slices. He’s a growing boy, after all.

Around eight that night, he grows bored of the inane chatter on the Xbox and decides that the buzzing anticipation under his skin calls for something else. He goes into the small armory that hides in the walls behind the guest bathroom and practices shooting for an hour, followed by a boxing session that keys him up but doesn’t scratch the incessant itch.

Roy’s not quite sober, but he’s getting there between the exercise and the food, so he downs another two shots until he feels the warm buzz come back alive. With it, he thinks he knows what he needs.

He goes into his room and keys up one of his favorite porn vids on his laptop. He strips himself of his red active polo and workout shorts, and then puts in his headphones.

He lets the scene play out, one of those stupid plots where mom has recently remarried, and step daddy gets some action with her kids. But, instead of a stepdaughter, this one has a stepson and new stepdad has blonde hair and a furry chest and stepson is a twink with a great ass and, well.

It’s Roy’s favorite for a reason and it isn’t only for the close up on the older actor’s thick cock sliding over the twink’s lips, smearing them with cum.

Tonight, though, the scene startles his own memory and suddenly he isn’t focused on the screen but on what the scene might have been if he hadn’t announced himself that day, if maybe he’d have gotten to see Oliver’s thick cock spreading the redhead’s lips, wiping precum on them, making them wet and fuckable. If he’d walked in ten minutes later, if the stranger’s fingers would have been buried in Oliver’s tight ass.

The thing is, it’s not the first time Roy’s seen Oliver with his pants down, so to speak. It might be the first time he walked in on him, and certainly the first time he’s ever had any knowledge that Oliver didn’t only like women. But when Dinah was staying here, Roy would sneak across the wooden floors on socked feet, light as he was in the field, and watch through the crack in the door to the bigger bedroom.

He knows the size of Oliver’s cock, knows he likes a few fingers up his ass when he comes.

His hand is straying into his boxers now, keeping his touch light and teasing as he grows hard, making a bulge in his underwear. The two men on screen fill his ears with harsh grunts and panting breath, the perfect soundtrack for him to tug on his cock with, to gather the precum at the tip and smear it around. It feels good in his hand – nowhere near as thick as Oliver’s, but he thinks it’s a decent size; bigger than the twink’s in the porn clip, longer.

There’s a gathering of freckles around the head and he slips from his actual knowledge to fantasy backed by that knowledge.

What Oliver might look like, his pink tongue slipping out to trace those freckles. The beard burn against Roy’s sensitive thighs, how hot his mouth might be.

Roy tucks two of his own fingers into his mouth, getting them wet, licking at them like they’re not his own, like they’re bigger and thicker, more calloused. He brings them down to his hole, the alcohol spurring him along, skipping all foreplay he might normally engage in.

He enters himself with damp fingers just as the older man pushes into the stepson in his video and Roy’s and the twink actor’s moans sound the same. It’s not enough, not enough for the boiling need in his body, the coil of anticipation in his gut, but Roy’s also too impatient to get one of his toys now.

Instead he just starts fucking into himself shallowly, thrusting up into his hand, the gentle burn of not enough wetness on either pushing him closer to the edge.

Fuck, he’s going to come long before the men on screen. Maybe he’ll go a second round tonight. 

There’s a moment where he’s focused on the screen, listening to high-pitched moans and the slap of bodies together, fisting his cock furiously as he sees the stepdad tangle his fingers in his stepsons, calls him a good boy and then there’s a close up on the boy’s hole taking in daddy so good and—

Something catches his attention from the corner of his eye and it’s Oliver, swinging open the door to his bedroom, his face cast in shadow while the light in the main apartment glows behind him, but Roy sees him open his mouth, and he turns over, in reaction, managing to show off his entire cock to the man. Giving Oliver a full view of his fingers in his ass, too.

The headphones slip out with his movement and he catches the tail end of his name that Oliver was probably calling as he entered the house, when he came looking for Roy. He hears the high squeak at the end, and he can’t help but moan out, “Ollie,” as he comes, somehow unable to tear his eyes away from his mentor who is standing still in the doorway, clearly shell-shocked.

Their eyes stay locked through all of Roy’s orgasm, an orgasm that leaves him shaking and sensitive. It’s not his best or his worst, but it is _intense_ , the way Oliver’s green eyes burn into his, taking in the arch of Roy’s body, the way they slip down to the dark space between his legs.

Roy pulls his fingers out, jacking off his cock a little more, getting every last drop of cum out, his fingers sticky and covered. When he’s done, his cock is still half-hard and he’s grateful, to not show that kind of soft vulnerability when Oliver still hasn’t said a word, hasn’t looked away.

Then, he does, a blush quickly blooming up his neck to his face, visible even in the half dark. Roy looks over at the clock on his bedside table: ten thirty-six. He probably should have locked the door before he started masturbating.

Maybe a part of him deliberately forgot.

His mentor has lowered his gaze and seems to be catching his breath.

Roy feels a despair deep in his chest. “Ollie, I—"

“Don’t ask me that,” Ollie says, voice strained, cutting him off. Roy can see his thick knuckles turning white where he holds onto the doorframe.

“I won’t ask, then,” Roy says, thrusting his chin out, putting on a brave face as he drags the blanket partway over his legs. He only manages it because it’s a rejection, sure, but he can see Oliver wants. It’s a balm to Roy’s wounded pride, at least. “But I’ll be here. If you want. Whenever.”

Oliver chokes. “We _can’t_ , Roy.”

“It wasn’t me with my twin swallowing his cock,” Roy states, suddenly bold.

“Fucking Christ, _Roy_ ,” Oliver hisses, leaning against the door jam, his head in his hands. “I never meant for you to see that. He isn’t, he _wasn’t_ —”

“But I _did_ see,” Roy emphasizes, sitting up. He notes his fingers are still tacky with cum. He holds them up, staring, then prepares to wipe them on his bedspread.

Before he can, though, Oliver is resting one knee on his bed and pulling Roy’s hand to him. He’s still in his suit, the only things missing are his domino and quiver, so it’s not only Oliver suddenly taking his fingers into his mouth, but the fucking _Green Arrow_ , swallowing down on Roy’s pointer and middle fingers, then swirling his tongue around and sucking in the third finger. _Green Arrow_ drags Roy’s own fingers out of his mouth once clean, pressing them against Roy's mouth, marking Roy’s face with spit, then following after with his own wide thumb until it rests on Roy’s bottom lip.

It’s all Oliver though, when he breathes his name, “Roy,” and leans in to press a fleeting kiss to Roy’s lips, replacing his thumb for a brief instant.

Then he’s off Roy’s bed and to the door as quick as he entered, a slump to his strong shoulders. He looks back, hand on the doorknob and says, quiet, “We can’t,” and then leaves, shutting the door so quiet, the absence of noise is as loud as if he’d slammed it.

**Author's Note:**

> One day, I will write them actually fucking. They deserve to fuck. They're just also _so_ good for the pining and angst.
> 
> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com) and/or [twitter](https://twitter.com/mf_luder_xf)!!


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